


Fits Of Peace

by puckity



Category: Sono Te wo Dokero | Hands Off!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Cousin Incest, Guilt, Heavy Sexual Suggestion, M/M, Pining, Self-Destructive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-22
Updated: 2006-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckity/pseuds/puckity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After what happened to Grandpa, the rift between the Oohira cousins has become impassible in Tatsuki’s eyes. But a night storm has been building, waiting for the right moment to break and unleash all the forbidden secrets left in their house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fits Of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006; my first real venture into manga/anime fic. Spoilers through Volume Six. Dedicated to Amber.
> 
> Beta'd by the indefatigable Amber and Rachel.
> 
> You can also follow me on [Tumblr](http://puckity.tumblr.com/).

Tatsuki could still smell the death. Under the blood and the dirt and the stench of the Tokyo alleys, it was always there. Each time he let the rush of scalding water run over his skin, Tatsuki wondered if—when he rinsed off the soap and stepped out of the shower—would it be gone? Would he be clean again? As clean as he’d ever been, he’d take that now.

But it never was gone. It crawled deep into his pores and ran through his veins until it was almost a part of him. The pain, the heartache, the guilt. Even that cold look in Kotarou’s eyes. Those things were bearable. But the smell was something he couldn’t take. It intoxicated him until his brain screamed for air and forced him to stumble back from the edge of that strange abyss in his mind.

Sometimes—when Tatsuki looked around at the litter of unconscious street punks after one of his nightly brawls—jumping into that void seemed like sweet surrender. But then he remembered that Kota’s face disappeared in the darkness, and he dragged himself back to his grandpa’s home.

\---

Rain tended to make sporadic fist fights significantly more difficult. All the spineless dickheads who wandered the streets looking for an easy target took their operations indoors. The empty alleys opened wide for deep, reflective thought. If only that was what Tatsuki wanted. He didn’t want to dive into his subconscious; that would eventually lead to unsavory questions about motivation and feelings, not to mention the ebbs of guilt that would drag him down if he gave them half a chance.

What he wanted was to punch his way into oblivion, hear the crack of bone against bone and feel his knuckles crushing into pale, perfect skin. He wanted to ruin something that was pretending to be good. He wanted to hit Kotari. He wanted to hit Kotarou. He wanted to hit himself until he got his fucking life back.

Wandering around dark, drenched Tokyo was bad enough. Wandering around dark, drenched Tokyo itching to start a fight was a whole lot worse. Tatsuki didn’t even bother to pull his hood up; maybe a bought of pneumonia was exactly what he needed. It would give him some distraction from himself, anyway. The raindrops slid down his bangs and stung his eyes. It didn’t feel refreshing like all those ads with people running through rainstorms told him it would be. Tatsuki was the kind of dirty that didn’t wash away.

It was midnight or it was 2 AM—Tatsuki wasn’t really keeping track—when he finally decided to head back. Not that it really mattered. His uncle was the only one who’d be awake and he would just stand in the hallway and watch Tatsuki like he was some sort of unfortunate mistake. _Giving you time_ and _letting you work things out_ were code words for not giving a shit and Tatsuki was too far gone to care anymore. Maybe he had wished his parents would come back from their international travels long enough to stop in and say hello. Maybe he had wished his dad would pick up the phone when he called or answer the letters he used to write to him. But that was a long time ago. Now it didn’t mean anything. All it did was remind him why he’d stop writing and calling and wishing. His father would have to deal with having a mistake for a son, or do what he did best and ignore the entire situation. Neither choice changed Tatsuki’s reality. There was only one thing left that mattered, and that was an angry, locked door waiting for him at his grandpa’s house.

His grandpa’s house. It wasn’t his home now. He couldn’t look at it, couldn’t walk around in it, couldn’t sleep in it without hearing the walls whispering in his grandfather’s voice. It was a monument to his sins, his failures. He was a murderer, and that house announced it to the world. Some nights he imagined it burning to the ground, allowing his life to rise from the ashes renewed. Other nights he thought about never going back, running away forever from the pain and condemnation. Then he realized that would make him just like his father; he’d be a coward. Even if he could outrun his past, his family, his transgressions…he couldn’t outrun himself. He’d be a haunted, damned soul. More so than he already was.

Then there was that other thing. Maybe Yuuto had the right idea. Maybe Tatsuki was a masochist. Every day since that day, he looked into Kotarou’s eyes and saw clouded mistrust and hurt. But beyond that there was something else, something hard and black that Tatsuki put there. In Kotarou’s eyes, Tatsuki saw hate. And that should have been enough to send him away for good. But it didn’t. Instead, Tatsuki came back every night and woke up every morning, all for one thing. He did it because he believed that morning might be the morning the hate disappeared from Kota’s eyes. He had to believe it, because if he gave up on that then he gave up on everything.

A life without Kota wasn’t a life. Tatsuki had to be a masochist, because he couldn’t accept that Kotarou didn’t want him anymore.

Tatsuki traced his steps back and thought about what he would do if tomorrow Kotarou stopped hating him. It was a frightening thought for someone so obsessed with suppressing his emotions. There had been a time when his biggest fear was the mess of inappropriate feelings he harbored for his cousin. He’d never been concerned with acting on them; his control was stronger than that. It was just that they were _there_ and—even though he was fully aware of how unnatural they were—Tatsuki couldn’t do a damn thing to make them go away. But it had been enough to protect him, to save him from his uncanny ability to get kidnapped, molested, stalked, and just generally targeted by nearly every seedy character he crossed paths with. He could be near him without ever having to admit that he wanted, liked, or desperately needed that. Tatsuki hadn’t realized just how much he desperately needed that until he couldn’t be there anymore.

All he’d ever done was protect Kotarou. Even when Tatsuki told himself he hated him, convincing himself that he could shift all the blame for his own insecurities on his cousin. Even when he used that blame—for his powers, his problems, and his life—to distance himself from Kotarou, he was still trying to protect him. Because at the bottom of his fractured soul, Tatsuki knew that he was the most dangerous person for Kota. His current situation was proof of that. In spite of everything, he’d still made Kotarou ache. He’d still made him cry.

Tatsuki was sinking. He stood in a mire of his own making and was slowly being swallowed up. Kotarou and Yuuto and anyone else who knew him peripherally would say that he lived his life dwelling on his own failings, but that wasn’t entirely true. His sanity had always hinged on either his apathy or his action. If he genuinely didn’t care—which was more often than not—then there was nothing to dwell on. On those rare but affecting occasions when he did care, his obsessive reassessment of his motivations was tempered by his reckless exploits. This usually played out when Kotarou was in trouble; the searching and chasing and fighting distracting him from his own mind. That was why he started going out and looking for fights. It kept him from losing it completely.

But tonight had been a waste. He’d barely gotten into a scuffle, with only a half-assed smack to the face; none of his violent energy had been diffused. And that was a problem rapidly running out of solutions.

By the time Tatsuki reached the house gate, his jaw was sore from grinding his teeth for the better part of half an hour. His fists were clenched, his body shuddered. He begged anything that would listen to let some loudmouth douche bags suddenly appear and give him an opportunity to beat something until he went numb. He even waited for it, but the street was perfectly silent. With a heavy sigh, he trudged up the garden steps and pointlessly snuck inside. He didn’t bother turning on a light; he’d become accustomed to the blackness. He felt his uncle’s eyes on his back as he walked up the stairs, but he didn’t say anything and Tatsuki didn’t feel like forcing conversation. He just wanted to go to bed and spend the rest of the night staring at a blank expanse of ceiling.

At the top of the stairs, Tatsuki realized how tired he was. His limbs felt like bags of sand weighing him down; all his excess energy thickened in his muscles. He felt like he could collapse in the hallway and be just fine, but he pushed himself towards his room. A hallway of closed doors reminded him of what he came back for. Just like every other night he tried each one, letting the jarring of the handles resonate in his bones. Grandpa’s, guest, study, and—

Kotarou’s doorknob turned more than it should have and Tatsuki almost fell into his room. He caught himself before hitting the floor and froze, swaying slightly as he waited to see if he’d woken Kotarou. All he could hear was the drone of sleep-breathing with a nasally edge to it. Kotarou had always been an open-mouth sleeper. Tatsuki’s eyes adjusted to the new shade of darkness and he scanned the room trying to locate where the sound was coming from. There were a few lumps on the bed, but they all seemed to be either a pile of clothes or a bunched-up sheet that was a testament to how often Kotarou actually made his bed. The heap of disorder made Tatsuki cringe a little; he imagined his evenly folded bedspread in an effort to distract himself from the mess. His eyes trailed across the floor—littered with similar piles—to the desk, covered in textbooks and loose pieces of paper, and finally settling at the window. Streaks of rain still pulsed down the glass and the cold, moonless starlight struck a harsh glow inside the room. Huddled beneath the windowsill was a pile of something with unruly hair and dingy socks poking out from under a blanket. It shifted and resettled against the wall. Tatsuki finally exhaled and stopped crouching in the corner like some sort of bandit.

 _Stupid Kotarou_ , he thought as he began to inch his way towards the window. _What the hell was he doing, falling asleep on the floor?_ The voice that Tatsuki pretended did not exist offered a seductive explanation; it whispered that Kotarou had fallen asleep waiting for Tatsuki to come back. With a bitter twinge, Tatsuki refused to offer that possibility any validation. The voice laughed cruelly at his weakness.

Tatsuki had forgotten that he was still wearing his heavy boots. Normally he would have done the polite thing and taken them off at the door, but his uncle’s ominously condescending presence had jarred him. Despite his attempts at silence, his steps fell with a thud. Luckily, Kotarou slept like a rock and barely twitched at the sounds. When Tatsuki finally reached the body huddled against the wall, he resisted the sharp urge to gather his cousin up in his arms and pretend he could feel clean again. Instead, he stood there and peered down at Kotarou from beneath his eyelashes.

Maybe it was because Kotarou’s face always seemed so open and honest when he was awake, but in his sleep Tatsuki thought he looked like he was trying to hide something. The loud mouth-gasps had stopped and his lips stretched into a hard line, neither happy nor sad. His eyelids pulsed with a nervous sort of energy. His slim hands were balled into fists, sprawled haphazardly on the floor. Even his breathing seemed strained, now that Tatsuki was close enough to clearly hear it. Short inhale, rapid exhale. Like in his dreams, Kotarou imagined the air to be poison and couldn’t risk overexposure.

Tatsuki crouched down, hugging his knees for balance. The cold moonlight cut across Kotarou’s features, sharpening his nose and chin and coloring his lighter hair a startling silver. He looked just like Tatsuki saw him; an angel of devastation. He was Tatsuki’s own private punishment, and he would destroy him in the end. But Tatsuki couldn’t look away.

Then Kotarou shifted again and his face fell into soft shadows. Just like that, the angel was gone and nothing but a normal 15-year old boy remained. Tatsuki watched the old blanket that Kotarou had outgrown years ago slip off his shoulders and bunch at his waist. He reached over slowly and grabbed a handful of fabric. The last thing Tatsuki needed was for him to get tuberculosis or bronchitis or something like that. He pulled the blanket’s edges over Kotarou’s slender shoulders and pushed them under the weight of his back, trying to pin them in place. Draped in faded blue fabric from the neck down, Kotarou looked like puddle of cloth with a head stuck on top of it.

A minute or so passed before Tatsuki realized that his hand was still resting on Kotarou’s shoulder. He pulled away as if his skin was seared; as he did his fingers grazed a smooth, warm cheek. Kotarou turned to his touch, murmuring quietly in his dreams. Tatsuki stilled his hand, just a breath away from Kotarou’s skin.

Pain shot through his knees. Tatsuki distracted himself from the moment long enough to actually sit on the floor. He grimaced as his calves shook with the strain. After a few minutes of trying to massage the pain out, Tatsuki turned back to Kotarou. He had slid even farther down the wall and out of the moonlight, clamoring for Tatsuki to take him to his bed and let him sleep in peace. That guarded expression still masked his usually uninhibited aura, and Tatsuki couldn’t stop himself anymore.

He reached three fingers towards the choppy bangs that hid Kotarou’s closed eyes from him and combed the mess of stray hair out of the way, only to watch it fall immediately back into place. He repeated the action a few more times, believing that maybe each new attempt would yield a different result. After three or four tries with the same outcome, he moved on. His fingertips traced the curves of Kotarou’s face, over his brow and down his nose, across his cheeks and along his jaw. His touch settled against the line of Kotarou’s lips and he felt the air from his breaths rush past his skin. He could feel Kota living around him.

This was everything Tatsuki wanted. His needs and desires all caught in one single instant. One single person. This consumed him, haunted him and drove him to the end of sanity and back. He was addicted to this torment, to this person and this instant. The slightest shift would shatter it, and that was what made it so necessary. It was the equilibrium between the extremes of his vices—carnality and frigidity—and Tatsuki wondered, just for a second, if this was what happiness felt like.

Kotarou’s eyes fluttered hazily and Tatsuki wretched his fingers away as if he were afraid of Kotarou biting them off. Just like that, perfection evaporated and reality returned. Suddenly, Tatsuki was scared again. All the questions that Kotarou might ask him raced through his mind and he began to panic as he realized he had no decent answers for any of them.

Tatsuki held his breath. Maybe Kotarou would just go back to sleep without realizing that there was someone else in the room sitting two feet in front of him. Maybe Tatsuki would be able to sneak back to his room and forget this ever happened. Maybe every fear of discovery that Tatsuki had wouldn’t be confirmed tonight. Maybe he was going to wake up any minute now, face down in a gritty alleyway and still sore after being knocked out. And maybe if Tatsuki focused enough on the maybes then all the questions he couldn’t answer would become less of a threat to him.

Maybe Grandpa would walk in right now and scold him for being out of bed at this hour.

Kotarou glanced around, evidently exhausted, until his bleary gaze caught sight of Tatsuki. A dumb sort of half-smile reshaped on his lips.

“I was waiting for you.” Kotarou’s soft voice sliced through Tatsuki like cold steel. _I’m dreaming,_ he thought. _I’m putting words in Kota’s mouth._

Completely oblivious to Tatsuki’s reticence, Kotarou turned and gazed blankly out of the rain-streaked window. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Tatsuki couldn’t respond to that with anything except a baffled, “What?”

“I was waiting here.” Instead of falling back into unconsciousness, Kotarou became more lucid with each statement. This worried Tatsuki. “I was waiting here for you to come home. I can’t sleep when you leave and don’t come back.” Tatsuki thought fleetingly about how asleep Kotarou had been when he found him, but then he turned his attention to the note of hesitance that he caught in that voice. Kotarou was never hesitant about feelings; it was part of what terrified Tatsuki, when he left everything out there.

“I come back.” Tatsuki didn’t mean to say it petulantly, but it came out like that anyway.

“Do you? Sometimes I think part of you gets left behind at wherever you go.” Tatsuki flinched at the strange adeptness of that observation. He couldn’t refute it, and a strained quiet began to settle around them. Tatsuki felt like he was being smothered until a hand stretched out to rescue him.

“Tatsuki, where do you go?” Tatsuki stared at the warm hand resting on top of his cold one. To willingly let Kotarou touch him was a foreign concept for Tatsuki, yet he didn’t pull his hand away this time. Gentle fingers touched bruises and cuts tentatively, exposing his secrets without saying a word. A sudden heat diffused across his wrist and down his arm, singeing the tissue beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry, Kota.” The apology surprised him; his voice sounded unfamiliar as it echoed hollowly between them.

“I know, Tak-kun.” Maybe Tatsuki had expected Kotarou not to understand what he was sorry for. Or maybe he had expected to be forgiven as a reflex. He didn’t know what to do with this validation of his own guilt.

“I won’t hurt you anymore.” It wasn’t a promise so much as a plea. “I can’t.”

“You’re lying.” The shock of this statement—spoken in a tone that could have just as easily been commenting on the weather—hit Tatsuki hard. _Stop it._ His thoughts spun viciously. _Get out of my head._ Tatsuki couldn’t comprehend why Kotarou was harder to block out than the constant barrage of violence and despair and death.

“You can’t stop yourself.” If he hadn’t been looking at Kotarou’s lips as he spoke, Tatsuki would’ve firmly believed that was just part of his own inner dialogue.

“I can stop myself. I can control this.” At some point, this conversation had become something Tatsuki needed to prove.

“Yeah, well.” Kotarou slumped against the windowsill, as if he were suddenly drained. “I don’t want you to control it.”

Tatsuki’s hand shook beneath Kotarou’s fingers as they slowly slipped away. “What?”

“It’s the last thing that really upsets you. It’s all that’s left to reminds me that you still feel something—anything—for me. I don’t want you to look at me like you look at everyone else, like you just can’t give a shit.” Tatsuki couldn’t form a coherent reply; instead he kept repeating _need_ and _feel_ and _want_ under his breath. He was so unnerved that he forgot to pay attention to what Kotarou was doing, and the next thing he registered was light fingertips running along his jaw.

He stared wildly at Kotarou, who was purposefully avoiding his eyes and instead focusing on the edges of his face. His whole body was rigid, hardened like a plaster mold. Kotarou didn’t say anything, he just watched Tatsuki curiously. As his fingers traced Tatsuki’s bottom lip his eyebrows furrowed sharply.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Tatsuki?” Of all the possible questions Tatsuki had anticipated here, he’d never even considered this one. “I mean, most of the girls in school are in love with you. Though I don’t know why, since you’re such an ass to everyone.” A sulky look passed over Kotarou’s features, but then he caught Tatsuki’s eyes and his gaze reflected something fearful of reciprocation.

“Have you?”

Tatsuki weighed his options. He had never willing sought out a kiss. There had never been an _appropriate_ person that he’d wanted to kiss. Plus, the whole post-cog thing. There had been one girl—he didn’t know her name or year or anything about her really, other than the fact that she was seriously pushy—who cornered him between classes a few months before Kotarou came to Tokyo and started giving him the usual declaration of unadulterated love. He had been just about ready to tell her he wasn’t interested when she grabbed him and kissed hard. He didn’t remember any sensation, other than alarm and irritation, and when she finally let go he didn’t even give her the polite ‘no thanks’ speech. He just left, as calm as he’d come. They’d passed each other in the hall a few times since and he always made sure to look supremely disdainful. So technically, he had kissed someone, but whether or not he wanted to share that story with a half-asleep Kotarou was an entirely different issue.

Then suddenly, his decision didn’t matter. He felt that sensation again, of someone—the only other person in the room—kissing him, frantic and rough, but this time it was accompanied by a completely different set of reactions. The first wave that swept over him was sheer terror. He wanted to run away until he collapsed; he wanted to lock up all his body’s responses and pretend that he could just walk away afterwards like he did that day with that girl. The second wave chased the heels of the first; terror receded to fear that gave way to the shame. Shame of taking advantage of Kotarou in his unguarded state, of not stopping his actions. Shame of his body’s betrayal and his own thinly concealed and rapidly apparent pleasure. There was barely any room for the shame of these feelings being directed at a blood relative to eagerly compound the social taboos.

Before the third wave of obsession over consequences could swell, Kotarou pulled back. In reality, the kiss wasn’t long at all. It was the onslaught of response that made it seem like hours. Now that the soft warmth was gone from his lips, Tatsuki almost wanted it back. And it was then that he realized what he _hadn’t_ felt.

Just beneath the surface, that familiar foreboding prowled. It crystallized and cracked and melted all over again. Tatsuki stared down at Kotarou’s face, holding steady a breath away from his chin. His eyes were closed, lids quivering faintly, as though he was about ready to fall back into dreams. This was the part when Tatsuki fell apart. But Tatsuki hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t felt that horrible rush of fire and acid in his veins, burning him from the inside out. For the first time since he’d been this way, Tatsuki had had a normal life experience. Or at any rate, and considering the situation, a normal-enough life experience. Which meant that he was missing something.

It should have stopped there; Tatsuki knew that. It should have ended with Kotarou still only half-awake and unable to solidly remember any of this the next day. He needed to walk away, like he never could with Kota. This was more dangerous than all the other times combined, the visions and the attacks. It was more dangerous for both of them.

Tatsuki couldn’t bring himself to touch Kotarou’s face, so he bracketed his neck when he leaned back in. He just grazed Kota’s mouth, tasting the yokan that he would spend half his paycheck on if Grandpa hadn’t scolded him about controlling his sweet tooth. Tatsuki tried to fool himself into believing that he had one-tenth the control he’d convinced others of, but at that moment he couldn’t even think about not running his tongue over that sugar-tinged skin. He finally closed his eyes and sucked on that lower lip, letting himself crumble. As long as he held onto Kota, he knew he wouldn’t go under.

It hit like a bottle smashing over Tatsuki’s head. All white and all black, all hot and all cold. They were rising from the floor, crawling out of the walls, whispering for Tatsuki to let them in. They were screaming and crying and laughing like maniacs, and Tatsuki felt the sting behind his eyes before he realized he was crying. His nails dug into Kotarou’s neck and he felt his slight body shudder with pain. Then Kotarou pressed close, possessively, and Tatsuki saw the impressions that haunted him recoil and sink back into the atmosphere. That feeling of healing, of pure white light striking through the shadows he lived in slowly broke past Tatsuki’s barriers and began to wash him clean.

Then Tatsuki felt something that caught him completely off guard, and he shot back out of Kota’s power. The room was consumed by darkness again. His heart pounded—echoing in his ears—and his breaths came in short, frenetic gasps. Kotarou’s eyes looked glazed, and he swayed vaguely with the sudden lack of support. But the problem didn’t go away; Kotarou’s hand was still rubbing the unforeseen physical reaction currently hidden within Tatsuki’s pants. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been too caught up in the kissing to recognize it, or if he’d simply forgotten—with his lack of experience in these sorts of _touching_ things—about the natural result. Either way, he hadn’t anticipated being so obviously aroused and he most definitely hadn’t anticipated Kotarou being there to grope him when it happened.

The worst part was that he wasn’t as horrified as he should have been. He couldn’t pinpoint the first time he’d had a fleeting fantasy about Kotarou touching him like this. He didn’t want to pinpoint it. He didn’t want to face the truth that this wasn’t just a random stumbling into a sexual obsession, that it had started longer ago than he could confidently know now. He wanted to let go, to let what was going to happen just…happen. His hitched breathing, the soft moans that escaped his mouth all told him to give into himself.

But he couldn’t do it. And just like that, his chance was gone.

The paralyzing fear returned, and he scrambled to get away from Kotarou’s curious hands as fast as he could. He forced himself to his feet, only to stagger with the dead weight of his left leg that had fallen asleep since he’d sat down. Grasping the edge of Kotarou’s work desk, he steadied himself and waited for the numbing pricks to pass. Behind him, he heard Kotarou shifting.

“Tatsuki…” There was a faint hint of repentance in his voice, which somehow sounded deeper and more seductive when it was full of sleep. A new surge of conflicted emotions swelled in the pit of Tatsuki’s stomach, and he knew he had to get away.

“I’m sorry, Kota.” And once again, Tatsuki was making atonement for all the sins around him. The room was suddenly stifling, and as he walked to the door he answered Kotarou’s unspoken question. “I’m sorry I’m not stronger for you.”

As soon as he’d gotten out of that room and closed the door on what could have been everything he’d always craved, his legs gave way and he slid to the ground, burying his head in his hands. The strange thing was, he didn’t cry. He didn’t even feel sorry for himself. He just needed a second to relearn living without being wrapped in Kotarou’s arms.

Letting the shadows reclaim him, Tatsuki finally exhaled and smiled bitterly into his palms, still tasting hints of koshian and sweetness on his lips.

\---

The next morning came and the sky didn’t come crashing down. Tatsuki woke up in his bed and felt like he had to still be sleeping. In one night, his situation had swung from violence to intimacy, from believing Kotarou hated him to letting himself be seduced by him. Yet his world hadn’t shattered, and now he didn’t know which life would be waiting for him outside his door. Every step he took away from his nightmares led him closer to a truth he didn’t know if he was ready for.

As he shuffled down the hallway, an impression of his uncle pacing nervously near the phone flashed behind his eyes. He paused, then kept walking, determined not to upset himself over what was most likely a harmlessly anxious energy. Focusing his attention on his empty stomach, he followed the smell of miso soup simmering in the kitchen. When he crossed into the bright streaks of sunlight, he saw Kotarou and his dad sitting stoically at the table. His uncle looked up and surveyed him with an air of oddly sincere concern.

“How are you this morning, Tatsuki?” Tatsuki tried to read any ulterior motive on his face. In his silence, Kotarou glanced up from his bowl.

“Tatsuki’s fine, Dad. You’re just not used to his cheery morning face yet.” Kotarou turned on Tatsuki and did the most jarring thing he could have done. He smiled at him. It wasn’t a huge, leering grin or anything; it was probably more smirk than smile. But there was a warmth, something tender and exposed between them. Last night, part of their relationship had been reborn and Tatsuki could see it past the still swirling clouds of dark hate in Kotarou’s eyes.

“Right, Tatsuki?” Lost in himself, Tatsuki had all but overlooked the fact that he’d been insulted. Already aware of the increasingly awkward mood with Kotarou’s father in the room, he stepped back from that warmth and let the indifference settle on his face.

“I’m not a morning person.” He didn’t look at either of them as he walked to the counter and filled a bowl with miso.

He sat down just as Kotarou got up. From the sink where he was rinsing out his dishes, Tatsuki heard him say with irritation, “You’re not an any time of day person, jerkoff.” What was left of his naked vulnerability from the night before pretended not to winch at the cutting edge of that remark. He listened as Kotarou’s footsteps retreated out of the kitchen and down the hallway. The front door opened and—with a solid thud—closed again, leaving Tatsuki to finish his breakfast with Kotarou’s dad in silence.

After saying a rigid goodbye to his uncle, he dragged his feet down the path and reminded himself that everything was just like it had been yesterday. Then he turned past the brick wall onto the street and stopped with a jolt. Kotarou was standing there looking particularly uncomfortable, hands jammed awkwardly into his pants’ pockets. Tatsuki considered asking what he was doing, or perhaps just saying something brutal. But somehow he couldn’t manage anything more than an apathetic stare. After a few minutes, it seemed to get to Kotarou.

“You know, you don’t have to look at me like I’m some sort of diseased limb of your life. I wouldn’t have even waited for you…I don’t know _why_ I even waited for you.” Clearly embarrassed—among other things—Kotarou spun away from Tatsuki and started walking fast in the opposite direction. Tatsuki caught sight of two lines of bruises running along the sides of that retreating neck. If anyone ever matched them up, Tatsuki knew they would fit his fingernails perfectly. He blinked at the remnants of his lust and desperation, the reminder of his dependence etched in that porcelain skin. But it was also a mark of his possession, a warning that Kotarou was his and no on else’s. He exhaled.

“You waited for me?” Tatsuki didn’t think Kotarou would hear him over his own stomping feet. He was surprised when he actually stopped.

“Yeah, I did.” Kotarou didn’t turn around, but his face was tilted back enough for Tatsuki to see his profile covered in a fierce pink blush. Tatsuki took a couple steps past him and stopped too, watching the shadows glide across the ground.

“Thanks.” He paused, then glanced back at a dumbstruck Kotarou with a look that he hoped said, _What are you waiting for?_ instead of revealing his actual thoughts. Tatsuki knew Kotarou wanted to ask what—exactly—he was being thanked for, but after quick consideration he seemed to decide to leave well enough alone. In his mind, Tatsuki answered him anyway.

_Thanks for being strong enough for both of us._


End file.
